


The Line

by EsperHeart



Category: Onward (2020)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:29:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25788109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EsperHeart/pseuds/EsperHeart
Summary: Barley Lightfoot has always been a lively person. He might be loud, boisterous, and reckless to a fault. But he's also kind, encouraging, and protective of the people around him.So it shouldn't be a big deal that he would form rivalries, simply by virtue of being himself, right?For a long time, it isn't...until they finally push him too far.
Relationships: Barley Lightfoot & Ian Lightfoot, Barley Lightfoot & Laurel Lightfoot
Comments: 8
Kudos: 38





	The Line

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so first off: regarding my other story, writer's block hit me big time. I DID have a chapter planned, but somehow, it just didn't come out right, and I had to scrap it. Also, I'm starting to think that for the time being, I may stick with writing one-shot stories. Hopefully not for long.
> 
> Also, while it seems easy for me to write Barley from another character's perspective, this is my first time writing from HIS perspective: I'm hoping I've done him justice here.

As far as morality goes, schools have groups of students in just about every branch one could think of.

There are the improved: students who started off rotten when they were younger, only to become kinder as the years went on. Then there are the opposite: students who were sweet and friendly when they were younger, only to grow up to become mean and uncaring.

There are the self-centered: students who are selfish at best, indifferent at worst. Kids who might not go out of their way to join bullying, but who won't do anything to stop it as long as it doesn't affect them or their social standing. Then there are the fearful: students who feel the suffering of others, but are too afraid of retaliation or unwanted attention to help. 

There are students like Barley Lightfoot, who started off kind and warm-hearted and have stayed that way ever since. 

And every school has at least a few kids who have always been cruel and have never had an interest in changing. Students who torment those who are young, small, or weak, for no other reason than because they can. Students who can't see that they're the cause of their own mistakes, and take them out on a convenient, yet unwilling target. Kids who would spend their hours after school damaging property, drinking things that were meant for those far older than them, and causing trouble and misery for anyone unlucky enough to cross their path. 

Those who, later in life, normally end up either in jail or dead.

* * *

Barley knew such a group in his high school years, and they were quite possibly the worst experience he had to deal with during that time. 

It wasn't _quite_ so bad in the beginning. There were only three of them--Taldric Flintear (an elf), Skiriki Rivers (a satyr), and their "leader", Vault Bareback (a centaur). Their bullying was mainly relegated to insulting other students, sometimes behind their backs, other times to their faces. Certainly nasty in and of itself, but easy enough to deal with: Barley just had to track down whoever was insulted and assure them that they were wrong. If they'd told a girl she was ugly (such as his friend, a cyclops named Yaldina), Barley would tell her that she was, in fact, very pretty. If they said to a library-goer that they were weak and therefore worthless (as they did with one of his other friends, a gnome named Wardus), he'd tell them that strength comes in many forms. And if they called someone stupid (like his old friend Shrub Rosehammer), Barley would bluntly state that they needed to look in a mirror sometime. Maybe even a magic mirror, since that meant that the mirror itself could inform them of their idiocy. 

If they said anything very cruel, Barley would also report them to a teacher...although sadly, that didn't always go anywhere. And even when it did (which usually just meant either a reprimand or detention), the jerks never learned anything from it. If anything, it made them more spiteful than ever. Perhaps it was his interference that led to them gradually growing a hatred for Barley in particular. 

"Hey, Lightfoot!" Bareback would call. "You think you'd pop like a water balloon if you got any fatter?" 

Barley would stiffen as they laughed and hooted at him. His jaw would clench for just a moment...and then he'd force a chuckle. "Appearance is in the eye of the beholder," he'd told them, infusing his smile and voice with confidence that he didn't really feel. "What looks like fat to you...is actually _muscle."_ This was at least partially true: Barley had found a brown, rusted old van that he'd started to put back together single-handedly about a month or so ago. It was slow-going, but he was determined, and he _had plans._

Barley remembered the bell ringing just as they were about to deliver a retort...but even then, they'd had disgruntled looks on their faces, as though disappointed that they hadn't gotten the reaction they'd wanted from him. That should've been enough to satisfy Barley...but it wasn't. Try as he might, he couldn't stop that comment from echoing in his head for the rest of the day. And even though his friends, and later his family, could tell that something was wrong, he couldn't bring himself to repeat what they'd said to him. 

Eventually, though, Barley learned to tune it out. He didn't forget their expressions when he'd behaved the opposite of how they wanted him to act, and he would continue to employ that tactic in the future. He even came to enjoy it, honestly. Even if he hadn't, though, Barley's mother had raised both him and his brother Ian to never get violent with people. So even though it was tempting, Barley had no intention of punching them. They weren't worth it, he told himself.

He had no idea how much worse they were going to be.

* * *

Barley and Yaldina had been walking home from the bus stop one day (Barley with tools for his van, Yaldina with snacks) discussing the specifics of their next Quests of Yore campaign. Yaldina had been laughing at something Barley said that neither of them would even remember when they'd heard the scream. Barley's gaze spun in the direction of that scream, and he'd dropped his stuff and had taken off running. He heard another scream coming from the yard directly in front of him, and he'd wasted no time in jumping the fence ("Twas a gallant leap, to get to the scene of the crime!" Barley would state proudly if anyone asked him in the future--he'd conveniently leave out the part where his feet caught on the top of the fence and he'd landed painfully on his stomach). 

Wheezing, Barley forced himself back to his feet and looked up...to see the side of the house, covered with ugly black graffiti streaks. He was distracted by movement, and he turned his head to see a goblin woman on her knees, and he quickly rushed to her side.

"Ma'am, are you okay?" he asked her frantically. "My friend and I heard you screaming, and--" 

He was interrupted when the woman spun around to face him, and he was taken aback by her blazing eyes. "Did you do this?" she demanded.

"Did I--what?" he stammered. 

She waved her arms furiously at the sorry state of her house, and then pointed at the ground beside her. "Did you do this?!" 

Barley looked to where she was pointing, and his heart dropped. Right there had been what must've been a beautiful garden, the soil having been kicked up and tulips and lilies yanked out of the ground, now lying in scattered pieces on the grass. A few of the flower heads had even been crushed, clearly stomped on and ground into the dirt. Barley looked at the woman, who was trembling in fury and eyeing him suspiciously, and he held up his hands placatingly. "I swear to you, this wasn't me," he said. "Like I said, my friend and I--" 

"Barley?" a voice called. The two of them turned to see Yaldina wisely (and, Barley would think later, somewhat anticlimactically) ignoring the fence and entering through the gate. "Barley, is she okay...?" Her voice trailed off as she surveyed the damage, saving Barley the effort of answering. 

"...we heard you screaming," he explained to the lady. "We had to come help." 

She stared at him for a moment, then glanced at Yaldina, and then looked at him again, as though trying to root out any possible deception. It seemed she didn't find any, though, because her gaze softened, pain replacing the anger in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I..." her voice shook slightly, and then she sighed. She turned her attention back to her house...more specifically, the remains of her garden. 

At some point Yaldina had walked up to Barley's side, and she spoke quietly. "I'll call the police." Barley nodded, and Yaldina walked off a little ways, pulling out her cell phone. 

He cautiously approached the woman, kneeling down beside her. "Ma'am?" he said softly. "Is there anything I can do?"

"I know it seems silly," she spoke, seemingly not hearing his question. "Getting so upset over a little old garden. But...my daughter and I worked so hard on it. I was going to keep adding to it until she got back from college. It...it was important to both of us." 

"Yeah," Barley said, nodding in understanding. "There's nothing silly about that, though." 

They'd stayed with her until the police pulled up, and a couple of officers entered the yard and began asking questions: where were you, did you see anything, what were you doing? And her answers: inside, no, and cleaning.

After a little while, one of the officers--a troll so big it was a wonder he could fit into their car--turned to Barley and Yaldina. "What do you two know about this?" he asked them.

Yaldina explained their side of the story to him, and as she did Barley noticed the way the officer's eyes narrowed whenever he looked at him. Barley had a suppress a frustrated growl; he often drew this response from adults, mainly because of his dress style. To them he was a delinquent, maybe even a criminal in the making, when he was anything but (even if he _would_ go on to obstruct construction workers in the future, all for the sake of preserving history). He would never do _anything_ like what had been done here, and Barley made sure to say so to the policeman. In response, the troll's eyebrows rose.

"I didn't say you did," he rumbled.

"With all due respect, sir, you were thinking it," Barley replied flatly.

Before the policeman could respond, his partner, a cyclops woman Barley wouldn't see again until a couple of years later, stepped up and placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "Well," she said calmly, yet with unmistakable authority, "did you two see anything? Would you have any idea who might've done this?" 

"Well..." Yaldina said hesitantly, but she was interrupted by Barley.

"There are a few guys at our school--this is the kind of thing they'd do." 

The troll looked skeptical, but the cyclops' brow furrowed. "Can you elaborate on that?" she asked. 

"I've seen them in a few places downtown, using spray paint on some walls and stuff." He had indeed; hardly anything they painted even seemed to have any point to them beyond looking as hideous and indistinct as possible. Although occasionally they made actual sentences, with awful spelling and words Barley would never be comfortable repeating. 

The troll officer sighed, and he actually looked sympathetic now. "I know who you're talking about--they were already reprimanded and given a warning. That doesn't meant they did this, though; plenty of kids around here paint stuff." 

"They're mean enough to do it," Barley insisted. "They do a lot of sketchy stuff, like smoking when they're not allowed, saying terrible things to people..." He began to realize how weak his rationalization sounded, so he tried to make his voice sound as matter-of-fact as possible. 

"Do you have proof that this was them?" the woman asked him. "Did you see or hear anything that would indicate their involvement in this?"

And there it was. Barley's gut was absolutely sure that this was Bareback, Flintear and Rivers...but he had no solid evidence, and everyone present knew it. He sighed and shook his head in defeat. With nothing else to offer and thus no reason to stay, Barley and Yaldina left the goblin with the officers. They hadn't expected anything else to go wrong, until they made it to the sidewalk where they'd left their things. Many of Yaldina's snacks had been torn open and smashed, while others were outright missing. Barley's tools had been either thrown onto the street or badly damaged. As they lamented their loss, Barley got a feeling that this wasn't over.

* * *

At that time, it seemed that Barley wasn't the only one having trouble. He was sitting at the dining room table one day, meticulously setting up his Quests of Yore game mat and organizing the little set pieces, when he heard the front door open. Barley looked up and grinned as his younger brother Ian stepped through the door. 

"Hey, Barley," he mumbled.

"Salutations, my dear brother!" Barley greeted bombastically, rushing over to embrace him. He ruffled his fluffy hair with a hearty laugh, but faltered at the look on Ian's face. He was looking up, but couldn't seem to meet Barley's gaze. In fact, the look in his little brother's brown eyes was despondent. Barley opened his mouth to speak, but then in rushed Blazey, who had just woken from her nap and was happy to see the youngest Lightfoot. She yipped excitedly and scrabbled at the bottom of Ian's shirt. The corners of Ian's lips quirked up weakly.

"Hey, girl," he said, scratching behind her ears. A little bit of light came back into his eyes, but his voice still sounded oddly distant. 

"Hey," Barley said to him carefully. "Are you doing okay, little bro?" 

Ian blinked. "Y-yeah," he said unconvincingly. "I'm fine, just...tired. Long day." He managed a small smile.

Barley frowned. "Wanna talk about it?" he asked in concern.

Ian shook his head, his smile disappearing. "Nah, it's okay. I'm just...I've gotta do my homework." Not waiting for Barley to respond, Ian backed away and slowly made his way up the stairs. Barley gazed up after him, considering whether he should talk to him more, then he shrugged. Maybe Ian really _was_ just tired--he'd always taken his schoolwork seriously, even more so in recent months. He _would_ be starting high school before too much longer. He went back to his game, not thinking anything more of it until a few hours later, when their mother finished cooking supper.

"Barley, could you go get your brother, tell him to come eat?" Laurel asked as she turned the oven off.

Barley saluted her. "As thou commandeth, sweet Mother!" He marched up the staircase and stopped outside Ian's room, giving a few knocks on the door. "Oh, brother!" he called. "Mother requests thy presence for dinner!" He waited for Ian to open his door, or at least reply...but instead there was silence. Barley knocked again. "Ian?" No response. 

_He must be plugged into his music again,_ Barley thought. Ian did that sometimes, listened to serene, calming music (the complete opposite of the kind of music Barley preferred) through his earbuds while he studied or did his homework. _"It helps me block out the world,"_ he'd explained once. _"The world is distracting, so my music helps with that."_ That would explain why Ian wasn't answering him, so Barley opened the door and poked his head through the threshold.

Ian had his earbuds in, all right, but he wasn't doing homework. Instead, he was curled up in his bed, facing the wall and fast asleep. Confused, Barley looked at Ian's alarm clock. It read 6:32 p.m. Ian had never been the type to stay up late at night...but he didn't usually go to bed this early. It wasn't even dark out yet. 

"Barley?" his mother called, making him jump. "Ian? Do you wanna come eat or not?" Barley hurriedly closed Ian's door and walked back down the stairs. 

"Ian's asleep," he informed her. 

Laurel frowned in puzzlement. "Asleep?" she repeated. 

"Yeah. I mean, he told me he was tired earlier, but...you don't think he's sick, do you?"

"Hmm...I'll go up and check on him. Go ahead and fix your plate, sweetie." 

He did as he was told--it was always hard to deny a rumbling stomach, after all. He still found himself glancing repeatedly at the stairwell, though, and it was a few minutes before his mother made her way back down. "He's not running a fever," she told him. "He probably just had a really busy day." 

Barley felt relief at her words. He would never admit it, but even with all the years that had passed since his father died, sickness in general always made him afraid. 

Laurel set some food in a separate container for Ian, and they ended up eating without him. That evening, Barley had been ready to see it off as a one-time thing...but it hadn't been. 

It only happened occasionally at first, but after awhile Ian would come home exhausted more frequently, shutting himself in more than usual. And while the timing was never consistent, Ian went to bed most evenings far earlier than he used to. When asked, Ian kept brushing it off, claiming it was because of the hours and effort he was putting into studying. 

Barley and their mother had accepted his answer easily enough--there were still plenty of days where he seemed normal when he came home. But there were other times when Ian would return with that dull, lifeless expression. They didn't press him; they had hope that if something was bothering Ian, he'd tell someone on his own time. Still, though...Laurel always watched him with concern whenever he wasn't looking.

Barley himself could never fully dispel the worry that gnawed at his heart.

* * *

"I told you to let me by, please!"

Barley heard the girl's voice as he made his way across the campus from the science building to the history one. His senses on alert, he veered off the path and made his way around the corner of the building to find Bareback and his cohorts huddled by the wall. At first, he wasn't sure what was going on, until he came close enough to hear what was being said.

"We already told you," Flintear snarled. "You stop when we _say_ you can stop." He emphasized his point by shoving someone, and Barley heard a gasp. 

"I-I-I've been doing your work along with mine for _weeks._ I'm tired, I just want to--please..."

"Aw, is someone _crying?"_ Rivers mocked, his voice a cruel imitation of her whimpering. "Why don't you _get over_ it: it's not like you had a life anyways!"

Barley could feel his blood beginning to boil, especially as he finally recognized the girl that they had trapped: a druid named Myla. He didn't know her very well, but she was soft-spoken and polite, and she was dedicated to her schoolwork. Unlike many of their classmates, she didn't hang around a specific circle of friends. Instead, she tended to drift from one group to another. She was currently clutching her textbooks to her chest while trembling, her normally-green skin paled significantly. Barley had seen enough.

_Here we go_ again.

"Ex- _cuse_ me, gents!" he said loudly, smirking as all three of them jumped in surprise. He elbowed his way through the group unceremoniously and rooted himself between them and Myla. "Does there seem to be a problem here?" 

"Nothing that's any of your business, _Lightbrain,"_ Bareback sneered. 

Barley tsked. "You're never gonna get far in life if you go for names like _that."_ He turned his attention to the girl behind him and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. "Now, if you all don't mind, the lady and I shall take our leave." He shoved his way through them without waiting for a response, bringing Myla with him.

"Uh, _we_ still gotta talk to her--no one asked you to stick your nose in where it doesn't belong!"

Out of the corner of his eye, Barley saw Bareback move to grab Myla, and he quickly pulled her away before he could do so. He made eye contact with the centaur, his smile vanishing. "Maybe I wouldn't...if you people actually had hearts. And you _will_ leave her alone." 

Rage flashed in Bareback's gaze, and Barley could see all three of them tense, as though preparing to spring at him. Just then, though, a voice called. 

"Hey, Barley!" 

Barley turned and grinned when he saw Shrub and Wardus waving at him from the sidewalk. He looked back to see the bullies visibly deflate, their expressions still smoldering, and he gave them a look of smug satisfaction. He knew that they'd be far less willing to take on multiple people, even if one of them _was_ a tiny little gnome. He let his eyes soften as he glanced at Myla. "Come on, let's go," he said encouragingly. He led her toward the path where his friends were waiting for him. As he did, he heard Bareback's voice behind him.

"Nosy, fat, worthless _freak."_

Barley took a deep breath through his nose and forced himself to keep moving, not even sparing a glance behind him. This wasn't the first time he'd inserted himself into their daily tormenting routines, especially since their most frequent targets were the less popular folk. He'd been doing it so often now that their feelings toward him had morphed from mere annoyance to more genuine anger. 

He was drawn from his thoughts by the sound of sniffling, and he looked down to see tears trickling down Myla's face. By then they had reached the path, and Shrub and Wardus made their way over to them. 

"Hey, is she okay?" Wardus questioned.

His words seemed to make the tears fall faster, and her sniffling had turned into gasping. Shrub herded them all inside the building. "Good thing the office is in here," he said, his expression serious. "We need to let them know what happened."

Barley nodded his agreement, but stopped when Myla spoke. "No, no, I--" Her mouth opened and shut a few times, as though she were at a loss of what to say. Barley noticed a bench at the wall, and he guided her to it and sat down beside her. Wardus and Shrub followed them over.

"I overheard you say something about work," he said gently. "To be specific, _their_ work." He paused. "Have you been doing their homework for them?"

Myla wiped her eyes with the collar of her shirt. She took a shuddering breath. "They wouldn't leave me alone if I didn't," she said shakily. 

"How long have they been harassing you?" Wardus asked, gaping at her in disbelief. 

She shrugged. "A while now..."

"Weeks." Barley stated, recalling her earlier words. It made sense: Bareback and his lackeys were not the type to put effort into their schoolwork. They never had been. She nodded as the sound of the school bell rang through the halls. 

_Annnnnnnd there's the tardy bell,_ he thought. He had accumulated quite a few tardy slips already. It didn't matter, though. There were more important things to worry about now. 

"We need to tell the principal," Barley told her. She looked at him in fear. 

"But what if they don't stop? What if they do something worse?"

"If we don't do anything now, they _definitely_ won't stop, and they'll _definitely_ do something worse later," said Shrub. 

She closed her eyes, thinking hard, not saying anything for a while. The boys stayed with her, neither of them saying anything. Finally, she opened her eyes.

"Will you go with me?" she asked, her voice small. "When I tell them?"

"I certainly shall!" Barley said with a huge smile. 

"Do you need us to go with you?" Wardus asked him.

Barley shook his head. "Nah, I've got it from here; you guys better get to class...sorry I made you two late." 

They told him not to worry about, and went on their way. Barley turned his attention back to Myla. "You ready?"

She slowly got to her feet. Then she made her way to the office, Barley following behind, prepared to guard her if necessary. 

* * *

She had told them everything: not only what had happened that day, but how they had cornered her almost every time they caught her alone to intimidate her into keeping their secret. How she had all but run herself into the ground doing all of their homework as well as her own. Barley hadn't left her side through the entire exchange, and when she was done the adults, thankfully, acted.

They weren't suspended; beyond Flintear pushing her, they hadn't physically harmed Myla, and there was no way to prove that they had planned to. However, their teachers _did_ demand that they redo every assignment that they had forced onto Myla and have it turned in by the deadline they set for them, and Rivers had been kicked off the basketball team. It didn't sound like much, but given the sheer number of homework sheets and projects that had been passed out in the time period that they had tormented Myla, Barley found it to be a very satisfying punishment. 

Even better, though, was that their teachers had been sure to inform them that they planned to keep an eye on them and especially Myla from then on; if they ever approached her again they would know about it. This didn't seem to deter them, though...if only because they blamed Barley for their predicament. 

They didn't confront him directly, but they delivered such hateful glares in his direction that Barley could almost feel them burning him even if he wasn't looking at them. It was uncomfortable, but Barley could live with it; ever since they'd been reported, they'd kept their bullying down to a minimum. He was beginning to think that the matter was being put to rest at last...until some time later, when Shrub caught up to him at the lockers.

"Did you hear?" he asked.

"About what?" said Barley, opening his locker. A large stack of old homework sheets and essays fell out, and Barley scrambled to catch them...something he always did whenever he opened the thing. 

Shrub started picking up the pieces off the floor that Barley had missed. "You ever think about cleaning that thing out?" he asked wryly. 

Barley took the papers from his friend and shoved them back into his locker. "I will! Eventually." As he proceeded to switch out his textbooks, he took a moment to look at the photo he kept on the inside of the locker door.

It had been taken about a year ago while his family had been on vacation at Memory Lake. It showed him and Ian on the beach, both of them wearing T-shirts and swim trunks. Barley had Ian in a headlock while ruffling his hair, the two of them laughing. Their mother had taken the photo; as Barley recalled, she had been greatly amused by their antics. He wasn't entirely certain why this was the only photo he kept here at the school with him. Maybe it was because Ian would be walking these hallways himself one day. He closed his locker and walked with Shrub down the hall.

"So what did you hear?" he asked his friend. He ran a large hand through his hair--sadly, nobody was allowed to wear hats at school (except for gnomes, of course--a fact that Wardus never failed to remind them about). 

"It's about Rockwell Hissfyre--somebody shattered the windows at his house." 

"What?!" Barley exclaimed. Rockwell was a gremlin who was in their grade. He was a likable guy who had a passion for the debate team and volunteered at the New Mushroomton Nursing Home--he certainly didn't deserve something like _that._

"Yeah," Shrub nodded, "it happened while him and his family were asleep--someone threw bricks through the windows on the bottom floor and drove off." 

"Geez," Barley said in disgust. "Do they have any idea who did it?" 

"Well, I talked to Rockwell myself--he told me that he caught a glimpse of a vehicle speeding away from his house just as he got to his bedroom window." Shrub looked Barley in the eye, and his expression was grim. "He said it looked like an Elemental." 

Barley's eyes narrowed. Flintear drove an Elemental--a black van that one could remove the seats from if need be, allowing somebody like Bareback to ride comfortably in it. "Are the police investigating?" he asked, forcing his voice to stay level.

Shrub huffed. "Yeah, but they won't find anything. Rockwell couldn't see the license plate, and it was too dark out to see exactly what color it was. Besides, you know how it is with Elementals."

Barley did know: Elementals were one of the cheaper models of vehicle you could find, and thus they were one of the most common. It certainly didn't help that black and white were also the cheapest colors available, which meant that you saw more of these vehicles than you did in any other color. Heck, at least a quarter of the vehicles owned by students here were Elementals, even if they weren't all the same color or year. It was precisely this reason that Barley had decided not to get one himself, even if it was one of the easier cars to afford. He wanted the vehicle he would drive to stand out and have an identity of its own. 

Barley parted ways with Shrub and went on to math class, but he couldn't concentrate for the entire period. He just kept glancing over at Rivers, who shared the class with him, and he noticed how the satyr's eyes were red and glassy...as though he'd been awake for a long time. It _could_ simply be because of the workload he undoubtedly still had...but somehow, Barley knew this wasn't the case.

He wished he could say that it got better later, but after he left to attend his next class, he happened to pass by Bareback. As he did, he heard him hiss.

"Out of my way, freak _."_

Barley's response was almost automatic: he spun to say something, but stopped himself. Bareback had disappeared anyway. Barley gripped his backpack strap and continued on his way, pretending he didn't feel his eyes stinging.

It was strange; he had been fully supportive of Myla and her reporting them, and he also would've been if it had happened to anybody else. And yet, when their cruelty was directed at him? He couldn't tell anyone. Part of the reason might be this: if he reported someone else being picked on, it felt like he was helping them. If he reported _being_ picked on? It felt like tattling--which made no logical sense. But teenagers were rarely logical, as Barley would come to reflect on later in his life. 

The other reason, and one Barley was a little less willing to admit to himself, was because of his pride. He didn't want to give the scumbags the satisfaction of having gotten through his defenses. Or at least, _knowing_ that they had.

Even in lunch period later, he didn't feel much better--until he got a ping on his cell phone. Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, he pulled it out...and laughed. 

It was a picture sent from Ian--it must be his lunch period, too. It was taken of a turtle, and angled so that the pattern on its shell looked remarkably like a sword. There was a message below it:

_Saw it and thought of you. ^_^_

Barley felt the tension in his gut ease a little, his spirits lifting. Ian never knew it, but he'd always had good timing. 

* * *

Later, Barley was having a good weekend. His Quests of Yore campaign had been amazing, having managed to evade the Elder Skeleton to retrieve the Chalice of Charity, and he was still glowing about it even though it had taken the whole night and he'd slept through half of the next day. This was probably why their mom sent Ian to the store to get a few things instead of him.

Ian was still too young to drive, so he still rode his bicycle most places. It wasn't a big deal, though, since the supermarket was only a few blocks away. Even so, Barley noticed a crease appear between Laurel's eyebrows after a while, and she kept glancing at the clock. 

"He should've been back by now," she said with a frown. 

Barley wasn't that concerned. "He's probably doing a little extra shopping for himself," he said. 

His mom took off her glasses and polished them with a tissue. "Maybe," she said thoughtfully. "Hopefully not too much, though; there's only so many sacks he can fit on that bike." She didn't seem reassured, though; if anything, she seemed to get a bit more agitated. She put her glasses back on. "I wouldn't have sent your brother out if I'd heard about the robbery sooner." 

Barley stilled. "Robbery?" 

Laurel's eyes darkened. "At the Gem Emporium. Mr. Wingheart was injured."

"Injured?!" Barley said, horrified. "Is he okay?!" 

"I wouldn't say _okay,"_ she answered, "but he'll live. I talked to a few of my gym friends since they live closer to the Emporium. He was hit on the head as he was getting ready to lock up. It didn't knock him out or anything, but it all happened so fast that he could only make out a few details. And, well...you know Mr. Wingheart's reflexes aren't what they used to be."

Barley nodded; Mr. Wingheart was a kindly old elven man who would probably retire in a few years or so. The Lightfoots were acquainted with him; even though the Gem Emporium was all the way on the other side of town, they often went there because there were some brands of candy that they couldn't find anywhere else. Of course, that wasn't the only thing sold at the store, but it was the main draw for the Lightfoot family. 

"What do they know? Will Mr. Wingheart recover?" Barley asked his mother.

"Yeah, he should be fine. It'll be a while before he can return to work, though. As for what they know...as far as I can tell, the robbers just took a bunch of cigarettes and alcohol. I think they tried to break into the cash register, but they didn't have any luck; I think Mr. Wingheart puts the money in a vault every night." She stopped talking, and looked back at the clock. She shook her head. "I should've gone instead. I got the news not long after your brother left. I sent him a text telling him to be careful and to call for help if something happened, but..."

"Hey, the Gem Emporium isn't that close," Barley assured her. "Ian will be fine." He tapped his fingers on the countertop. "Are there any suspects?"

"No, but Mr. Wingheart _did_ tell the cops that the robbers got away in a dark Elemental."

Barley's fingers halted. A dark Elemental. Could it be a coincidence? Barley's gaze drifted to the window. Bareback. Flintear. Rivers. They were scum; there was no doubt about it. Certainly not above scaring other kids. But actually hurting someone? An elderly man? Would they truly stoop that low...? 

Barley was startled back to reality when Laurel's phone rang. They both recognized the ringtone as the one she set up for Ian, and she quickly answered. "Ian? Honey, are you--" she paused, frowning as she listened. "What do you mean?" She paused again. Barley was getting nervous at the look on her face...so it came as a relief to him when some of the tension left her expression. "Okay," she said finally, "but listen--I'm gonna send your brother over to you." She put her hand over the speaker and looked at her older son, but Barley was already on his feet, hunting for his shoes. Her attention returned to the phone, and her voice was stern. "You don't move from there until he shows up, okay?"

His shoes and hat on, Barley stopped on his way to the front door. "Where is he?"

"At the park."

This was baffling to Barley. The park was on the way home from the supermarket, but...what was Ian doing there? He was tempted to ask, but he didn't want to waste any time, so he made his way out of the house and started jogging down the sidewalk.

_Someday_ he was going to drive everywhere. 

About ten minutes later he'd reached the park, and he noticed Ian's bike propped up just inside the entrance. A couple of sacks were hanging from each of the handlebars. But where was he?

"Ian?" Barley called, his stomach churning.

"Over here!" he heard his little brother respond, and Barley saw a man and a woman, both satyrs, in the playground. He swiftly made his way over to them, and what he saw...wasn't what he had expected. 

Ian was sitting on the sand in front of the couple, but in spite of the anxious look on his face, he was perfectly fine. The child he was sitting next to, on the other hand, was anything but. He was a little satyr boy, and his eyes were red from crying. And for good reason: he was covered from head to toe in splattered, rotten food. Though Ian had at least attempted to clean the worst of it off, if his discarded, now ruined jacket was anything to go by. They weren't alone, either; a small group of kids about the same age as the satyr were huddled a few feet away, watching them. The woman was crouched in front of the boy; she must've been his mother.

"What happened here?" Barley asked in confusion.

"Nothing good," Ian answered. Barley took a closer look at his little brother, and he now noticed that the palms of Ian's hands were stained with rather ugly colors. He must've been in contact with that food. "Someone threw a bunch of stuff at him from their car--I saw them drive off and I wanted to help, but..." Barley's heart ached at the look of helplessness in Ian's eyes, especially when at his words, the boy started crying again. 

"Oh, honey," the woman said, and she wrapped the boy up in an embrace, not even caring about the mess that was no doubt now clinging to her own clothes. The man, who must've been her husband, stepped forward and squeezed his son's hand.

"Is he gonna be okay?" asked one of the other children, a sprite girl that Barley wouldn't have even known was there if she hadn't spoke. 

Instead of answering her, the man turned to look at Ian. "You saw who did this?" he asked him. His voice was low, but his eyes were enraged. Ian saw this, and Barley could see him shrink into himself.

"Uh, I-I-I...I mean, not _clearly,_ I--" he stuttered, his fingers digging into the sand on either side of him. Barley kneeled onto the ground next to him, and he cast a warning look at the satyr. 

"Hey, man, don't scare him! I know you're upset, and you have a right to be," Barley said, "But he's _not_ the one you should be angry at." 

The man blinked, and shook himself a little. The anger didn't dissipate completely, but now there was regret mixed in. "No, you're right. I'm sorry. I'm not mad at him. I'm _furious_ at..." His voice trailed off, his hands balled into fists.

"It's okay," Ian said softly. "I saw their car--an Elemental."

Barley's eyes shot to his brother. "An Elemental? Are you sure?!"

Ian nodded. "Yeah. I was riding home from the store, and I saw Rilen at the entrance of the park." It took Barley a moment to realize that Rilen was the little satyr boy. "He was trying to get their ball." Ian pointed to the group of kids, one of whom--a cyclops boy--was indeed holding a large red-and-yellow ball. He continued his explanation. "There was a black car parked on the street next to the sidewalk. When Rilen got the ball...they started throwing things at him from the windows. I yelled at them, but they sped off." He looked at the satyr parents. "It didn't feel right to leave Rilen, but...I couldn't really do that much. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," the woman spoke. "You stayed with our son into we could come for him." She smiled at him. "Thank you." 

Ian blushed and gave a tiny nod. "You're welcome," he said shyly. Barley felt his heart glow with pride for his brother.

"I saw who did it," the boy said quietly. All eyes landed on him. 

"Who?" asked his father. His son looked into his eyes.

"I saw two, and they were both guys. One of them was a satyr. The other was an elf."

Barley knew _exactly_ who that was (even if Bareback hadn't been seen, he had no doubt that he must've been the one who was driving), and without hesitation he launched into the story of the bullies at his school to Rilen's parents (although he left out all the times they'd tormented him personally--he didn't want Ian to know). It was enough for the couple, and they told him they'd call the police to file a report. The woman got up and led her son away, murmuring reassuringly to him. The boy turned to wave at Ian, giving a wobbly smile as he did so. Ian waved back. The Lightfoot brothers got to their feet, dusting the sand off their clothes. The man, however, lingered. 

He stepped up to Ian and held out his hand. "Thank you for being with my son," he said, his voice much warmer than it had been earlier. 

Ian stretched his hand out, but halted when he seemed to remember the stains on. He pulled his sleeve over it as best he could, and shook the man's hand. "I'm glad I could help," he said quietly, but sincerely. The man turned and followed his wife and son out of the park. After a moment, the kids also left, a couple of them turning to wave goodbye at the brothers. Soon, Barley and Ian were alone. 

"Ready to go home?" Barley asked. Ian nodded; he looked tired.

"Yes, please."

As they left the park, Barley took note of the tire marks left on the pavement, so thick and black that Barley was certain that the car that had made them had left in a hurry.

"Hey," Ian said, pulling Barley from his thoughts. "Thanks for coming. I, uh...I was kinda starting to freak out a little."

"But of course! I'll always come for thee, Dear Brother."

Ian walked his bicycle alongside Barley, clearly not wanting to leave his older brother behind. Barley appreciated this; he always enjoyed spending time with Ian, even if the circumstances this time weren't ideal. 

"You know," Barley said in a normal tone, "you did that kid a huge favor by staying with him."

Ian shrugged. "I didn't do that much. Just tried to clean off what I could." He gestured to his jacket, slung over the seat of the bike, and grimaced. "He was crying a lot, and the other kids didn't know what to do." He let out an empty laugh. _"I_ didn't know what to do." 

"Did you talk to them?" Barley asked. 

"Well..." Ian said, looking embarrassed. "I mean, I told them it was gonna be okay, but...that's about it. I couldn't think of anything I could say that wouldn't sound...I don't know... _wooden."_

Perhaps not the usual term, but Barley understood what Ian was saying. If there was one thing Barley had learned throughout his life, it was that reassurances didn't mean a thing if you didn't believe them yourself. 

"What happened to your hands?" Barley asked. A thought hit him, and he fought to keep the outrage out of his voice. "Did those jerks get you too?"

"What? No," Ian assured him. "I just...I was with him for a while. Rilen. I kept rubbing his back. That stuff on him was gross, but...I had to help him feel okay _somehow."_ He paused. "I just remembered when you used to do that with me," he added a bit sheepishly.

Barley blinked in surprise, then closed his eyes. It took a moment, but then he remembered: whenever Ian had been sad or scared, Barley would sit with him and rub either his back or his arm until he calmed down. He had stopped as they'd grown older, Ian not needing it quite so much, but still...how could Barley have forgotten? He smiled and put a hand on Ian's shoulder. "You did everything right, buddy. You'd make a good older brother!"

Ian slowed a little bit to rub the back of his neck. "Thanks, but...I'm barely a good younger one."

"Hey." Barley said firmly. "You're the _best_ younger brother--and don't you forget it!" 

* * *

Things happened relatively quickly after that. A couple of police officers had come by the next day requesting Ian's presence (which had just about given Ian himself a heart attack, and who could blame him?). It turned out that they had spoken with the satyr family the previous evening, and they simply needed Ian to clarify a few things on his end. Ian had been intimidated by the attention this gave him. But his mother and brother being in the room with him, as well as having Blazey in his lap, had been enough to give him the courage to speak. He'd repeated everything he told Barley and Rilen's parents, but added a new detail: he'd caught sight of part of the Elemental's license plate. He only got the first few digits, but it had been enough to track to the culprits...who were _indeed_ Vault Bareback and his friends. 

This victory wasn't perfect. The police found nothing that connected the bullies to the assault on Mr. Wingheart or the damage to Rockwell's house, both of which Barley was positive they were responsible for. Beyond the graffiti they'd left downtown, they had no record. Even so, though, word of what they did made its way back to Barley's school in a case of off-campus conduct. Barley wasn't entirely certain what all was involved with the rules surrounding that, but all that mattered to him was that Bareback, Rivers and Flintear were suspended. 

The sense of triumph this gave him was indescribable. For his part in bringing them down a peg, Barley made a mental promise to himself to buy Ian anything and everything he liked for the next several weeks. 

* * *

Sadly, that triumphant feeling didn't last long. A few days later Barley and Ian were sitting at the bar after school. Barley had been foisting yet another bag of strawberry candy off onto Ian while his brother politely tried to decline, a slightly befuddled look on his face. Then they heard the explosion. 

Barley shot to his feet and Ian had frozen completely. The sound had come from outside. Almost at the same time, the brothers rushed to the door. Ian got there first, and he opened the door just as Barley reached out and yanked his little brother protectively behind him. 

There was nobody there. But their mailbox was now a smoking wreck. 

"What is it?" Ian asked in alarm. "Barley?"

"Boys?!" Laurel called frantically. She made her way downstairs from where she'd been reorganizing the attic. "What was that?! Are you two okay?"

"We're fine, Mom," Barley said. "Just someone's idea of a sick joke." He was pretty sure who, but after looking around, he couldn't find any clues to prove it. 

They would have to get a new mailbox. It sucked, but such things could be replaced. Gazing at his mother and brother, Barley knew better than most that other things could not.

* * *

The days at Barley's school when the bullies were gone were more peaceful than they'd been in a while. Certainly many other students were happy to have them gone. So it was unfortunate that it couldn't be that way forever. 

Before too long, they had returned. Rather than go about their usual routine, though, they kept to themselves. They would mutter to each other and glare at anyone and everyone, but didn't do much beyond that. That was perfectly fine with Barley. He wasn't content for long, though.

A couple of weeks after their return, Barley was rushing to his locker, hoping to retrieve the books he needed and make it to class before the tardy bell rang yet again. With the halls emptying fast, though, his odds weren't great. Panting, he reached his locker...and paused. His locker door was slightly ajar.

He was pretty sure he hadn't left it open.

Shrugging, Barley opened the door, his papers once again falling to the floor--and he gasped. There was something written in fat, ugly, large black letters on the inside of his locker door.

**_SCREW-UP_ **

Barley looked around the hall, but nobody was paying attention to him. Returning his attention to his vandalized locker, he discovered something even worse: his picture of him and Ian was missing. 

"No, no, no no no no no," he chanted furiously to himself, but it turned out he didn't need to look far. Because it was there, at his feet along with his homework sheets. What was left of it, that is...

Because the photo had been ripped to shreds. 

Barley could feel his breathing speed up, the pure _rage_ he felt making the edges of his vision blur. His jaws clenched so tightly they could've snapped, and his fists were balled so tightly his knuckles were nearly white. 

"Hey, Bar, how're you doing?" 

Barley was jolted from his infuriated state by the sound of Wardus's voice, and he turned his head to look at the gnome as he approached. He couldn't bring himself to answer; he didn't trust himself not to say something he would regret later. Instead, he took a few deep breaths, and slowly bent down to pick up his spilled papers...as well as the sad remains of one of his fondest memories. He stuffed his old homework carelessly into his locker, and shoved the fragments of the photo in his pocket. He let off a bit of his fury by _slamming_ his locker shut, a gesture that left Wardus gaping at him. 

"Barley?!"

"Come on, let's go," Barley said through gritted teeth. Once again he knew exactly who was to blame...and once again, there was nothing he could do to prove it. His feelings were only confirmed when he passed Rivers on his way to class. The satyr smiled tauntingly at him.

He spent the rest of the day employing self-calming tactics. He told himself that that picture he'd had wasn't the only one he possessed; he had many others at home. He also resolved to invest in a lock for his locker. He'd never used one before because he never kept anything worth stealing in there. He wouldn't make that mistake again. And he was certain he could scrub those words off his locker.

No matter what he planned, though...he could still see that message when he shut his eyes.

_SCREW-UP._

_SCREW-UP._

_SCREW-UP._

* * *

When Barley got home that day, he made his way over to the couch, dropping his backpack on the floor as he went. He slumped down, leaning his head back and shutting his eyes, groaning. He heard footsteps enter the room from the kitchen. Barley didn't have to look to know that it was Ian. 

"Barley?"

"Mom out?" said the older elf.

"Yeah--she took Blazey for a walk." For a moment, silence. Then: "Are you okay?"

Barley sighed. "Headache," he grunted. He propped one of his feet up on the coffee table, but otherwise made no effort to move.

The footsteps retreated, and for a few minutes Barley was alone. Then he heard his brother return.

"Hey."

Barley opened his eyes. Ian stood next to the couch, a cup of water in one hand, a couple of migraine pills in the other. He held them both out to his brother. For the first time all day, Barley smiled, and he sat back up. "Thanks."

"No problem."

Ian sat next to him as Barley took the offered medicine. He already felt better, though he attributed that more to his younger brother's thoughtfulness. He noticed, however, that Ian didn't look directly at him. Instead, he was staring off toward the kitchen, yet it was clear he wasn't actually seeing it. That wasn't a good sign. 

Before Barley could ask, though, Ian blinked a few times, and look down. "Barley...can I ask you something?"

Barley shifted in his seat so that he was more comfortable, kicking his other leg up on the coffee table. "Well, of course, young one!" he said. It wasn't quite his normal booming adventure voice, but it still sounded better than it did earlier. 

Ian still wouldn't look at him, and he swallowed a few times before he spoke. "Do you ever wonder..." Ian's voice trailed off uncertainly, and his hands were kneading the bottom of his hoodie. Barley could feel a concerned frown appear on his face. Ian sighed, and his voice wobbled a bit as he picked his sentence back up.

"Do you wonder what kind of person Dad wanted you to be?"

Barley's eyes widened, and for a moment he didn't breathe...he couldn't. He couldn't answer at first, either: all thought had vanished from his mind. Ian finally looked up at him. His eyes were shining...but not in a way that looked good. Somehow, this is what helped Barley speak again.

"Sometimes."

Ian cast his gaze down for a second, then returned to Barley's face. "Do you know? What he would've wanted you to be like, I mean."

Barley glanced away, suddenly unable to meet Ian's eyes. "No," he said quietly. This was a lie--he knew exactly what kind of person their father would've wanted him to be.

The kind that didn't run from their dying loved ones. 

Ian didn't sense the deception; a look of resignation settled on his face. A surge of foreboding began to make itself known in Barley's heart. "Ian, what's going on?"

Ian bowed his head, staring at the floor. His hands were clasped in his lap, and his shoulders were hunched. "I don't know, it's just...well..." His voice sounded constricted. Barley recognized that tone; Ian used it whenever he was trying not to cry. He sat up and laid a gentle hand between Ian's shoulder blades, feeling his big brother instincts kick in. 

"Talk to me," he said.

Ian took a moment to gather himself...then he spoke. "There's a girl at my school. And, well..."

"Awww," Barley grinned. "Does somebody have a cruuush...?"

_"Barley."_

There was no humor at all in Ian's expression, or even embarrassment; instead there was pure frustration and pain. Barley could sense him about to withdraw back into his shell, and he immediately backtracked. "Right, right, sorry. Go on." Ian stared at him, and at first it seemed that he wasn't going to. Just as Barley began to believe that he had blown the moment with his big mouth, though, Ian began talking again.

"She and her friends, uh...they don't like that much."

"Huh? Why?" Barley asked in puzzlement. The thought of _anyone_ disliking his little brother was a flabbergasting one to him.

"They just don't," Ian said bluntly. His voice cracked on the last word, and he fell silent. He swallowed again. "I-I don't talk about Dad a lot at school...a-a-and it's not cause I...because I'm ashamed or anything--I could _never_ be ashamed, I just...I don't want people to..." 

"...to pity you," Barley finished somberly. Ian looked at him in surprise...and a little bit of wonder. But Barley understood completely: he kept to himself about their father at school for exactly the same reason. 

"Yeah," Ian said. His gaze drifted back to the floor. He began to rub his eyes. "T-they started to...to say things. Spread stories about why...why my dad n-never comes for me. That he l-left me, or that he was in jail...stuff like that..." As Barley watched his little brother, Ian's shoulders began to tremble. "I went t-t-to talk to them. Tell them th-the truth..." He wiped his eyes more rapidly as his tears fell to the floor. "And they...she said it didn't m-matter...b-b-because..." His voice broke completely, and Barley pulled him to his chest. He could feel his heart breaking for his baby brother.

"Said what?" he asked, his voice gravelly. "Ian, what did she say...?" He could feel Ian's tears seeping into his shirt. 

"She said..." Ian whispered, "...that even if D-Dad lived...he wouldn't have liked me...c-cause there's nothing special about me." 

Barley's hold on his brother tightened a bit, absolutely appalled. He felt the visceral urge to punch a hole straight through the wall and scream. Quite possibly the only thing that stopped him was the feeling of Ian's hands fisting in his shirt. He was still crying. Barley recalled the many nights in the past few months when Ian had come home sullen and distant. The pieces were coming together.

He pushed Ian away just a little, gripping him by his shoulders and looking directly into his eyes.

"Ian, listen to me," he said, his voice low yet intense. Tears were still streaming from his little brother's eyes, but he was giving Barley his full attention. "What she and her flunkies say... _nothing_ they say is important. You got it?" Ian opened his mouth to answer him, but Barley cut across what he was going to say. "Remember when you stayed with that kid to watch over him when those crooks humiliated him? Have you _seen_ the grades you come home with every day? And the way you're always there to help whenever Mom needs you... _e_ _verything_ about you is special, and Dad..." Barley broke eye contact for just a few seconds. Then he took a deep breath and finished. "...he'd be _so proud_ of you." 

"You don't know that," Ian whimpered.

Barley pulled Ian back into his arms. "Yes, I do." And there was so much conviction in those three words that Ian couldn't refute him. He simply wrapped his arms around his big brother.

Almost unconsciously, Barley moved his hand to slowly rub Ian's back, just as he had when they were younger. Perhaps the memory hadn't left him after all; the gesture felt just as natural now as it had back then.

He shut his eyes and rested his head on top of Ian's mop of blue curls, continuing to hold his baby brother as he cried silently. 

* * *

For as long as he lived, Barley Lightfoot would never forget what happened the following day...not for lack of trying, though. 

He was already in a bleak mood because of Ian's breakdown the day before, and even the company of his friends wasn't enough to banish the feeling entirely. Just when he was starting to lighten up on his way to history class...he saw them. 

Bareback, Flintear and Rivers were talking amongst themselves, leaning against the wall next to the stairwell that Barley would need to take to get to his next class. They stopped when they saw Barley, and they all smirked. There was something gleaming in their eyes...something he didn't like. 

"Hey, Lightfoot!" Flintear called with faux cheerfulness. "You got a moment, man?" 

"Only if you're willing to move," Barley replied evenly. He smiled coolly at them.

He was tempted to just walk away and take the opposite stairwell to avoid them, but that was all the way on the other side of the (quite frankly, huge) building. And he wasn't going to let these losers scare him away. Working to keep the apprehension off of his face, he approached them, his hand reaching for the doorknob. 

"Hey, come on," Bareback said, his hand landing on Barley's shoulder, "we just wanna let you know what we did during our...our few days off."

"Your suspension," Barley corrected, rolling his eyes in disgust. He jerked his shoulder away, and Bareback let his hand fall to his side. "What could possibly make you guys think that I care what you guys have been up to?"

Bareback's eyebrows shot up, and he exchanged a look of mock surprise with his buddies. "Oh, please," he said, smiling sardonically. "When have you _not_ cared about what we've been doing? In fact, _that's_ what we wanna talk to you about!" His cohort nodded in agreement. 

Bareback stepped closer, his long body blocking the doorway. "Long story short? We want you bug off. Starting minding your own business, and let us do what we want without being an obnoxious _tattletale._ " 

_Obnoxious, huh?_ Wow, _is that a big word for them._

Barley was unimpressed. "I'll stop...when _you_ stop. If I've told you that once, I've told you a hundred times." He forced a smile back on his face and attempted to nudge his way past Bareback. "Now, if you don't mind..."

"Ah-ah-ah, we're not done!" Bareback said nonchalantly. He pushed Barley backwards, not hard, but just enough to make his point. "You see...my buddy Skiriki here has a liking for photography--I mean, he's no good at it, but it's enough for us." He tilted his head, and Rivers pulled a few pictures out of his jacket pocket. He handed them to Bareback, looking smug.

"Okaaaaay..." Barley said slowly, wondering where they were going with this. "Your point?"

Bareback laughed, though it sounded a bit more like a cackle. "My point is that while we were out, I decided to take the three of us on a ride around town. See the sights, hang around..." He studied the photos in his hands for a moment, then held them out to Barley. "...give you a little incentive." 

Barley frowned as he took the small stack, still watching Bareback. Then he looked down at the first photo...and his blood turned to ice.

It was off-center and blurred around the edges, but it hardly mattered: the focus of it was unmistakable. For there, sitting on a bench in a schoolyard and reading a book, was a slender young elf with fluffy hair.

Ian.

The world around him ceased to exist as he looked at the second photo: Ian on the sidewalk in front of the school during the morning rush, writing in his notepad. Barley felt his horror mounting as he switched to the last photo: Ian walking his bicycle away from the school, looking over his shoulder at something off-camera. In each picture, Ian was wearing something different; a hoodie, a jacket, one of his many flannel shirts...

These piles of scum had been watching his little brother for _days._

"He's a cute kid," Flintear snickered. Barley hadn't recovered from the surreal state he'd suddenly found himself in; to him, the other elf's voice sounded like it came from very far away. 

Slowly, deliberately, Barley's eyes left the pictures and settled on the creeps in front of him. He could feel his heart racing. 

"You care about him a lot," Rivers added.

"Yeah," Bareback said, his tone cocky. "He really does." The look on his face was self-assured. "And Lightfoot, that's why you're gonna stop telling us what we can and can't do, and why you're gonna stop squealing on us to anybody who gives you the time of day. Because if you don't..." He reached a finger out and tapped it on the top photo in Barley's hands...right on Ian's face.

"...something bad might happen to him."

Barley _snapped._

He launched himself at Bareback, taking the centaur completely by surprise and bringing him down to the floor; he had acted so quickly that Bareback hadn't even thought to brace himself, and now Barley had him pinned onto his back, his horse-legs flailing. The elf didn't waste any time--he just started _wailing_ on him, landing fist after fist on Bareback's face, arms and chest. Any time one of Bareback's legs found purchase on the floor he would attempt to push himself back to his feet, and every time he did so Barley would shift his brute strength and send the other kid right back onto the ground. 

Perhaps it was because of Barley's cheerful and friendly demeanor, but somehow they had failed to take into account that in spite of his positive outlook...he was still a _very_ big elf. What he lacked in finesse he made up for in muscle and sheer bulk; he was physically stronger than all three of them. Maybe such things wouldn't mean much against someone who actually knew how to fight, but against these hooligans? It worked out just fine.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN WALK ALL OVER MY FAMILY LIKE YOU DO EVERYBODY ELSE IN THIS TOWN?" Barley screamed. He barely recognized his own voice, and he honestly could care less. "YOU THINK YOU CAN THREATEN MY LITTLE BROTHER LIKE IT'S _NOTHING?!"_

The rage that Barley felt was so pure and all-consuming that at that moment, he couldn't remember ever being able to feel anything else. He was vaguely aware of someone yanking on his arm from behind him, and he blindly thrust his elbow back-- _hard._ He felt it connect; their grip disappeared, and he didn't spare a second thought about it. He was no longer conscious of his surroundings--only that there was a look of utter _terror_ on Bareback's face, and Barley took vicious satisfaction from it. 

Soon, much too soon, Barley felt someone grab him again, and this time whoever it was was far stronger. The elf was pulled off of Bareback and Barley thrashed, trying to escape the hands that held him in an iron grip. 

"..... _stop, hey, eno_ ugh, STOP THIS RIGHT NOW!" 

As though someone had flipped a switch, the world came rushing back. 

Barley heaved for breath as his eyes darted everywhere at once. Bareback was laying on the floor, bleeding and moaning; one of the teachers, a spriggan, was crouched next to him. Flintear was sitting back against the adjoining wall, his nose and lip also bleeding--he must've been the one Barley had elbowed. Rivers was nowhere to be seen. Barley would learn later that the satyr had run off the instant he had blown his fuse; he hadn't even tried to help Bareback or Flintear. A small crowd was gathered a few feet away from them, some watching in shock, others in excitement. 

As he mused at the scene around him, Barley slowly became aware of the dull pain emanating from his side. He pressed a hand against the spot, and he winced. Nothing broken, but it would definitely leave a nasty bruise--Bareback must've managed to get a hit or kick in, if an uncoordinated one.

Huh. When had that happened...? 

"What is the meaning of this?!" the teacher holding Barley demanded, and it was no wonder he was able to keep Barley rooted to the spot; he was a troll. 

Barley opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he was shaking, and his movements were becoming sluggish. His gaze caught sight of the photos that had fallen to the floor. Barley saw his brother's face, gentle as it always was, and he was mortified as a couple of tears trickled down his cheeks. 

* * *

Barley was suspended.

It was no surprise, really--schools _did_ have a zero-tolerance policy as far as violence went. And yet, it wasn't all bad. Barley was a first offender in that regard, and while he had always been a lively, rambunctious student, he had never caused true harm to anyone until now. He'd only be out for a few days. What he was _truly_ relieved about, though, was how his mother had taken everything. 

Barley remembered sitting in a chair just outside the principal's office, pressing an ice pack to his side and waiting in dread for her to show up. Their priorities had always been somewhat different, but he loved his mom dearly; he never wanted her to think anything less than the world of him. He was afraid of what she was going to say to him...but it turned out he didn't need to worry. He saw her enter the room, but instead of the anger and disappointment he had expected to see in her eyes, he saw worry and fear. The instant she caught sight of him, she rushed over and bent down in front of him.

"Barley?" she said, laying a gentle hand on Barley's arm. "Honey, I know you wouldn't get in a fight for no reason...what happened?" Barley couldn't answer yet. He buried his face in her shoulder, and he felt her arms wrap around his head. It was amazing that even though he was bigger than her now, she could still make him feel safe.

Once they'd been called in, Barley had swallowed his pride. He'd explained everything that had happened between him and the bullies in the past several months (he felt Laurel squeeze his hand as he described the things they had said to him), and he'd finished with what had triggered his beatdown on Bareback. Laurel had demanded that something be done about them. The principal assured her that there would be consequences for their misdeeds. To their credit, the adults had actually seemed to be on Barley's side, or at least sympathize with him...but rules were rules. 

Barley also remembered passing by Bareback on their way out; apparently the bullies and their parents would be questioned in separate meetings. The centaur looked awful; half of his face looked swollen, and his hair was a tangled mess. His mom glimpsed at him in disgust, but didn't even falter on her way out. He looked at Barley...and the elf gave him a glare of pure hatred. He immediately averted his gaze.

That day, Barley learned one of life's greatest truths; that for all their boasting, for all the ways they worked to make themselves look bigger and badder than the people around them...at their core, bullies were cowards. They didn't work hard, not for anything. They weren't smart. They weren't loyal to anyone but themselves. They weren't tough--not in any way that mattered. And they certainly weren't brave. 

In the end, they didn't have anything going for them. And deep down, they knew it.

* * *

Barley and Laurel arrived back home; Blazey ran up to them, overjoyed to have one of her masters come home early, and without missing a beat Barley scooped her off the ground. He gave his mother an apologetic look.

"Mom, I, uh...I know you always told me and Ian never to pick fights, but..."

Laurel smiled at him, waving him off. "It's okay, mister. I think you get a pass for this one."

Barley chuckled. "In that case...they _totally_ deserved it." And with that, he went to his room. He stayed there for a while until he heard a knock on his door. He opened it to see his mother, the phone in one of her hands. 

"I got a call from the principal," she explained. "The police came by the school--those kids have been arrested."

Barley gaped at her. "Arrested?!"

"Yeah--apparently there was another robbery yesterday evening at a jewelry store, and the cops uncovered security footage that caught them in the act. They caused a lot of damage, and the jewelry they stole wasn't exactly cheap." The smile on her face could've lit up an entire city. "They're in a _heap_ of trouble!"

Barley laughed joyfully and wrapped her in a tight hug. There was no way they'd be getting off with a slap on the wrist _this_ time. More importantly, though...they couldn't hurt anyone now. They couldn't hurt _Ian._

Speaking of which...Barley pulled back. "Mom, can you not tell Ian about what happened?"

"What? Barley, you know he's going to find out about your suspension--there's no way around it."

"No, that's not that I mean. I meant...don't tell him _why_ I did what I did."

"Why not?"

Barley sighed. The truth was...Ian wasn't like him. He was afraid of so much; he saw danger everywhere he went. Most of time, it wasn't true; it was his mind making things out to be more frightening than they really were. Barley had faith that Ian would one day overcome his fears. He'd grow up to be a strong, confident, independent young man...not unlike their father.

But if Ian ever believed that someone was actually out to get him, that could jeopardize all of that. It could cause Ian's horizons to shrink rather than expand. Barley wouldn't let that happen. 

But he was tired, physically and mentally, so he couldn't find the words to explain all of this. It was a shame, since words normally came easily to him. So he settled for: "I just don't want him to know. Not yet." Maybe someday, when they were both older, and perhaps a bit stronger, Barley would tell Ian the truth. Someday.

Laurel contemplated this. "Okay," she said, and kissed his cheek. 

* * *

A few hours later, Barley was sitting at his desk and reading his Quests of Yore guidebook when he received another knock on his door. "Come in," he answered, not looking up from his book. He heard the door open, and someone walked through.

"Hey," Ian greeted him. His tone was skittish, almost as though he were approaching a wounded animal. "I heard about what happened." 

Barley turned in his chair to look at his brother, who had sat down on the edge of his bed. A mental image appeared in Barley's head; of his little brother in front of his school, a dark car parked a few yards away. Of three pairs of malicious eyes watching his every move. The thought made his heart stutter, so he shoved it away.

"Is there anything I can do?" Ian asked. He looked uncertain, but Barley knew that he'd do whatever he could to help someone he cared about. Maybe they weren't as different as they thought.

"There is, actually," Barley told him. His voice was a little rough, and he cleared his throat. "Can you give me a hug?"

Ian didn't hesitate; he got up and closed the distance between them, and Barley wrapped his arms around him as soon as he reached him. Ian did the same, clinging to his older brother.

_I love you, buddy,_ Barley thought. _I'll never let anyone hurt you._

"Mom told me not to ask about what happened yet," said Ian, his voice muffled slightly by Barley's shoulder. "I just wanna let you know that..." His voice trailed off. But as always, he found a way to pick it back up. "...that if you ever want to talk about anything bad that...that might've happened, or...anything like that...I'm here." Embarrassment began to seep into his tone. "I-I mean--I can't really _do_ a whole lot, and--you know, I don't know how to _say_ the right thing that'll make things better, but--"

Barley let out a warm laugh and pulled back from their hug a little; he wanted to look into his brother's eyes. "All you'd have to do is listen. I know it doesn't sound like much...but a lot of the time, it's enough." 

Ian gave him a soft smile. "Okay." 

Barley grinned and ruffled his brother's hair. "You know, it's been a loooooong day. How about we watch a movie?" 

Ian considered the request for a moment. "You know...that actually sounds pretty good right now." 

Barley slung an arm around his shoulders. "Then we're _off!"_ he declared.

Looking back, Barley couldn't recall what they'd watched that night, or what they'd eaten when Laurel had joined in with food and sodas. He couldn't remember how late they'd stayed up or what the following day had been like in comparison. But he _did_ remember the important things; his mother on one side of him, their beloved pet in her lap and various snacks piled between them. His younger brother tucked into his other side, eyelids drooping and contentment apparent on his face. And Barley Lightfoot could remember feeling happier than he'd been in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> Yaldina and Wardus don't get mentioned in the film itself, but they ARE referenced in the Quests of Yore book that was released around the same time (they're a couple of Barley's campaigning buddies). 
> 
> Side note: this story turned out a WHOLE lot longer than I thought it would be.
> 
> For those of you reading, I hope you enjoyed it! :)


End file.
